


Fragile Love

by Aisla_elfvictory



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 14:17:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20816540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisla_elfvictory/pseuds/Aisla_elfvictory
Summary: To the Noldor of Tirion, Earwen was their Queen – not quite fitting in, perhaps, but they loved her all the same; to the Vanyar of Valmar, Earwen was the swan maiden of Alqualondë, daughter of Olwe and wife of the Noldoran – kin, perhaps, but they loved her still; to the Teleri of Alqualondë, however, Earwen was the mother of kinslayers, wife of another, and traitor to her kin.Of love that is fragile, from the eyes of an elf who was a mother and a daughter, a queen and a traitor.





	Fragile Love

It all happened at such an alarming speed.

They were feasting. Then Finwe was dead. The dreaded oath. The Kinslaying.

Arafinwe returned (_Coward_, a voice rasped in her mind.), and with him all his followers (Sheep, the voice declared.) and none of their children (they had always been righteous and courageous. Oaths sworn cannot be broken; loved ones cannot be abandoned to die.).

None of their four children returned, not gentle Findarato or ambitious Nerwen, not even fiery Angarato nor scowling Aikanaro. Though it is heart-breaking, somewhere, in that deep, dark place of her heart, she was glad they did not abandon their morals.

_They call Aman “the Undying Lands”, and yet, death has happened, has it not?_

_They claim all those who live in Valinor “glad and peaceful”, and yet, I see nothing but despair and gloom. _

_I look upon the empty streets of Tirion and see only deserted homes that await masters never to return._

_My brave, valiant children._

_I look upon the Gardens – Atarince and Turkano hold debates by the fountain every other day – where are they?_

_I look upon the empty library of Tirion, at the empty spot between Law and Poetry – it was there Artanis made her academic pursuits – has she finally tired of learning?_

_I look upon the empty streets of Tirion – Empty even at the start of the month! – and blink, surprised, until I remember Maitimo is no longer there to hold eloquent speeches to awe ladies, merchants and vendors alike._

_My children, my nephews – kinslayers and dispossessed._

_How could Arafinwe return, spurning children and family loyalty, to beg for the Valar’s forgiveness? Good King, yes, very wise and not a fool; but the worst father to walk upon Aman._

“My Queen!”

A voice hailed her, bright as the once shining Golden Tree.

Earwen turned and plastered a false smile on her face.

“Arafinwe,” greeted she, watching the newly crowned Noldoran, his eyes clear and without regret, without sorrow.

Must he be so optimistic? Our children are gone to the unknown, to their dooms, and eventually, deaths.

Arafinwe must have noticed the change in her tone, for he frowned at her.

“Is something wrong?” asked he, perplexed.

_Everything. Our children are gone, and yet while I remain worried sick, you are resting in your lavish palace with not a care for them; my people despise and spurn me for the deeds of my children and you, kinslayers and murderers, our line shall be forever tainted by blood-guilt._

That Earwen wanted to say and more. But she could not bear destroying his peace; so Earwen said nothing.

_The passion has long ago faded, the lovesick phase passed. It is, after all, a fragile love._

* * *

Of her four children only Findarato returned. 

But he did not truly return. 

Pale blue eyes, once glowing with carefree laughter are dark with sorrow; golden hair shone dimmed and dull. 

Her son would not speak nor sing nor smile. He loved not Amarie and remained melancholic and miserable.

_Years living on opposite shores of the Sundering Sea, and the flames dimmed to a spark, and the spark was no more. Like I once said, it is a fragile love. _

Then one day, from Middle Earth came a pretty Noldorin noble with sad smiles and wise eyes. 

There in the plains he stayed with her, in their little cottage and white fence, away from Alqualonde (the very port that he had so dearly loved in his youth). And spurred by her sad smiles and wise eyes, her son sang and laughed again; and Earwen was glad. 

She told him to return (_Your father needs you; we need you._) but he would not concede. (_I must stay with her, Amme,_ her son had said, _I love her._)

So, in the outskirts of Valinor he stayed, with his sad wife in their plain cottage. Earwen longed for her son to return, but he was happy, smiling and laughing with his wife, and what more could a mother ask?

Then she heard there was discord and hurried to the cottage. The lady was gone, and only her son remained – Findarato laughed no longer, and would not speak nor sing nor smile. 

_Fragile love, is it not? Love that remained faithful and true through war and death, crumbling so fleetingly._

His wife returned to court with the sons of Feanor by her side (she worried of the lady’s complex friendship with her former lords, but then, they were kind and treated her well) and her son returned alone, all wise eyes and sad tiredness.

(_It must have been the wife,_ Earwen told herself. _Her sadness was contagious._ But even if Earwen could fool the world, she could not fool herself. Familial betrayal and lost loves, they all played a part in the breaking of Findarato.)

They called him the Faithful, they called him Beloved; such things do not matter anymore. Earwen would have her son an Oathbreaker and spurned by the world if happiness would return to him. 

_It matters not that my people hate me, it matters not that my father could not even glance at my face without flinching, it matters not that after all these years, the Noldor see me as an outsider still; to me, only the happiness of you and your siblings matter, Findarato._

* * *

_Please,_ she pleaded. _Please,_ Earwen begged this lady - the in-law daughter she had never acknowledged. _Help my child. _

The lady with sad smiles and wise eyes smiled that smile of hers, and said, _he loves me not._

Earwen recognised that smile. That insecure, unsure smile. The smile of not being good enough. 

_He is a Prince,_ the elleth continued, _he loves her still._

They say love triumphed all. They say love is strong. But before Earwen is a fragile love, held together by only a half–severed bond. 

* * *

Then came Artanis, weary but no less proud.

Smiling Artanis greeted the sad maiden (Were they friends?) and sighed when she heard of what transpired in her absence (_Must he and you constantly quarrel?_ Her daughter had asked the maiden, exasperated and out of her wits.).

_Where was Artanis’ husband? How can one weigh love – love that so briskly ran its course?_

_He loves me not,_ stated the maiden resolutely, and her sad smile was a smile no longer, and fled to the forests of Orome.

Earwen worried, but Tyelkomo intervened before a search party was sent (_She is safe,_ claimed her liege lord_, Safe and resting in my hunting lodge._).

She had wanted to ask more, but then spoke Atarince, coldly, cruelly, _She has suffered much at the tender care of the House of Arafinwe, think you not that she deserves a measure of peace? In Beleriand, she was a noble of Himlad, my subject. Perhaps it is best for us to intervene and not you. _Earwen wanted to protest, to retort, but Atarince was not of amenable nature, even before when they were all innocent and untainted by blood-guilt, and Artanis had assured her, _He may be cruel to all others, but to his followers he is fair and kinder that he is to us,_ and so Earwen relented. Afterall, she had done what she could. The future of her son rests solely on the hands of Eru.

_Like she said – fragile love._


End file.
